


Encyclopedia of Muse

by 1_jew_in_a_room



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: A collection of Joe's poetry, F/F, Joe's poetry, M/M, Mostly soft and fluffy, Not In Chronological Order, it's also the circumstance around the poetry, or sometimes both, or what inspired him to write it, short little chapters, some will be angsty also, thanks for reminding me that I like writing poetry Old Guard, usually the person Joe left it out for reading it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26963959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1_jew_in_a_room/pseuds/1_jew_in_a_room
Summary: Throughout the ages Joe has accumulated a collection of poetry - a sort of encyclopedia of muse. Any time he sees something that compels him to write he sits down and lets his thoughts flow from him. Sometimes he'll leave a poem or two around so that someone can read it.___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________This is a collection of short little one-shots centered around Joe's poetry. Each chapter features a different poem and the circumstances around it.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Kudos: 13





	1. Twin Braids

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you'll enjoy. If you do, feel free to head over to my Old Guard blog on Tumblr: milleniaoffamily@tumblr.com

_Blood drips_

_Bright against your skin_

_You do not growl_

_Or scream_

_You gripe that it dried in your hair_

_Laughter like a brook_

_I can breathe_

_You are so young_

_and yet_

_There you stand beside_

_guiding softly_

_Patient smile despite the times_

_we tug your hair_

_while learning to braid_

The scrap of journal paper feels somehow soft in her hands. It had been waiting for her by the coffee maker that morning - just sitting there for her to read. The poem is in Joe’s artistic swoopy handwriting. Also who else would leave poetry around? Nile re-reads it, wiping the sleep away from her eyes. Her body is still waking her up at way-too-fucking-early o’clock but she wants to make sure she gets all the words straight. 

She can’t help but laugh a little at the last couple lines. A few nights ago he’d braided her hair for her. It was how her mother had dealt with bad hair days when she was little until she learned to do it herself. There was something comforting about having someone be there to do it for her again. First the braids had been too loose, then they were uneven, and finally after a few tries she helped him through, laughing while she divided her hair up for him and assured him that it wasn’t too tight. 

The coffee machine beeping to tell her it’s finished startles her out of the memory. Andy’s leaning on the counter of the island and watching, munching on a banana. A knowing little smile spreads on her face when Nile folds the paper and slips it in her pocket. 

“Does Joe..?” Andy nods, chuckling a little.

“Sometimes he leaves the poetry he writes around for us to read.” The kind of light that only reaches her eyes when she’s around her family makes Andy’s gaze soft. The more she learns about them the more Nile thanks the universe that it’s really not like the action movies. They have quiet mornings like these where she can wake up slowly and feel safe between all the fighting. After a little while Joe wakes up and he and Nicky emerge and Nile hugs him tightly because something about the poem made her feel warm. And Joe gives really great hugs.


	2. Joy In Finding

“I believe we’re off the main road, Yusuf,” the reminder comes out quietly. To him his voice sounds harsh in the quiet, but it seems as though Yusuf barely even registered it.

“Agreed,” is all he offers in reply. There’s a glint in his eyes that Nicolo can recognize as inspiration but he isn’t always sure of what it’s from. The sun is beginning to set, too, and the room they’re renting is not in the direction they’re going (at least he doesn’t think so, but he can’t be sure anymore). 

Sometimes Yusuf gets distracted and seems to disappear. Every once in a while he’ll stop and look at the sky or leave some half-spoken words of explanation behind as he wanders down an ally he finds interesting. Nicolo follows, he waits, and he watches as Yusuf searches for whatever it is he’s trying to find. Sometimes while they’re wandering down winding backstreets Nicolo will lose track of where they are because he’s too busy trying to see what Yusuf is following. Yusuf certainly doesn’t know where they are either.

Nicolo doesn’t like being lost. He’s found that it generally invites unpleasant situations or at the very least unwanted encounters. That’s not to say that he doesn’t like to interact with unexpected people - in fact interactions with strangers are one of Nicolo’s favorite things. The sudden camaraderie of two people sitting next to each other who previously never knew each other, or even the breezy acknowledgement of two pedestrians as they pass each other remind him of the beautiful connection that all humans have. But being lost just leads to confusion and frustration in his experience. He can’t imagine where Yusuf could possibly hope to end up.

“Where are you going?” Nicolo’s question is matter-of-fact, not stern or pleading. Yusuf turns as if he’s genuinely surprised that time has passed and nods.

“Oh, I don’t know yet,” The answer only confuses him more. Yusuf’s face brightens with that smile that lights the whole sky, though, and suddenly it doesn’t matter so much where they are.

The rest of the walk they are silent. Nicolo has no issue with this - he loves quiet. Eventually they stop at a small dock where an old rowboat sits tethered, the rope weathered and fraying. He stands a few paces away and watches as Yusuf sits. The man looks otherworldly, framed by the light of the moon peeking from behind the clouds as familiar scents of the sea tease at Nicolo’s memory. Neither know how much time passes as they remain. Each is lost in his own moment.

Once they’re finally back in the comfort of their room Nicolo looks at his love curiously.

“Where were you?” He thanks all the heavens for the laugh lines that appear when Yusuf smiles.

“Who can be sure?” His tone is sarcastically mystic and it elicits a huff of laughter from the Genoan. 

***

  
  


The poem sits on the windowsill by their bed. Nicolo has read it many times. Yusuf is still asleep, but Nicolo woke an hour ago only to find it bathed in the early-morning sunlight by the bedside. 

_ Every so often _

_ Let me be lost _

_ For there is so much joy in finding _

_ Let me search for words _

_ Live in mistakes _

_ Lurch _

_ Stumble overboard _

_ Give me time to float _

_ Buoyant  _

_ on a moment _

_ Breath hanging _

_ unattended  _

_ Left out to dry _

_ Maybe I’ll find a song _

_ On my way back to you _

“I enjoy being lost sometimes. You don’t have to be lost with me if you don’t, though.” Yusuf has been awake long enough that the sleep has cleared from his eyes. Nicolo must have been so immersed in his words that he hadn’t noticed. There’s a very present edge to Yusuf’s gaze now and Nicolo can’t look away. The kind of smile that spreads slowly across Nicolo’s face washes over him.

“I’m not lost, amê mæ, I am following you.” Yusuf reaches out to him - a silent request for him to come back to bed, and Nicolo has no intention of refusing. 


End file.
